Never Trust a Rogue (6 page)

Bott still looked disgruntled, but Thane ignored him. The fellow would get over his snit soon enough when he realized that Thane had no interest in milking any glory from solving the case.

He had seen enough needless death on the battlefield. His sole interest was achieving justice for the two women who had died—and preventing any others from suffering the same fate.

He tucked the cravat into an inner pocket of his coat. As he strode downstairs, Thane passed the crowded antechamber where throngs of unwashed masses sat on benches, awaiting their turn with one of the magistrates or to visit prisoners in one of the holding cells. He proceeded outside into the dull gray afternoon and headed to the iron post where his horse was tethered. While bending down to untie the reins, Thane glimpsed her slim figure out of the corner of his eye.

Miss Lindsey Crompton.

He jerked upright and spun toward her. Only to realize his mistake as she reached out to open the door to Bow Street Court.

Instead of a finely etched profile, this woman had a crooked nose and a coarseness to her features.

Instead of an upswept mass of rich brown hair, this woman wore a dark bonnet adorned by a broken peacock feather.

Instead of a willowy form with generous breasts, this woman was painfully thin, almost sickly.

Irked with himself, Thane swung onto his horse and negotiated a path through the congestion of drays and carriages on the cobbled street. How very foolish of him. His imagination was conjuring ghosts.

It was the image of Lindsey Crompton that haunted him. He had committed an act of supreme idiocy by reaching into her bodice the previous night. He had succeeded only in branding himself with the unforgettable memory of her luscious curves.

When she had flown at him in a rage, intent on retrieving the IOU, she had knocked him off balance. Not in a physical sense, but in his mind. She was magnificent in her anger, all fiery woman. For a brief moment while he’d clasped her close, sexual awareness had entered those big blue eyes. Her lips had parted as if hungering for his kiss.

A visceral thrill gripped him. He had wanted to do more than kiss her—still wanted. He’d burned to carry her upstairs to the nearest bedchamber and coax sweetness from her tart tongue. God help him! She was a vixen who would make a man’s life a misery.

But his body ignored logic. The fire of attraction still smoldered in his gut.

Charged with the critical task of tracking down a killer, Thane had no time for the games of courtship. Nor had he any interest in marrying at the moment, as his uncle had commanded him. Thane would not allow himself to deviate from his purpose. Miss Lindsey Crompton was a distraction to be ignored.

Nothing more.

Some distance away, in the posh area of Mayfair, the object of Thane’s dark musings was approaching his residence on Curzon Street.

Slowing her steps, Lindsey tilted her head back to gaze past the frame of her straw bonnet at the long row of town houses. Unlike the freestanding Crompton mansion in Berkeley Square, some three blocks distant, these homes adjoined one another in a continuous line down to the far corner.

Number Ten belonged to the Earl of Mansfield. Identical to the other fine brick houses, it rose four stories tall. White marble columns flanked the front door, while a triangular pediment carved with two fierce griffins crowned the top of the entryway.

She strained to see into the tall windows, but they were set too high off the street and she could catch only a tantalizing glimpse of shadowy rooms inside the swags of blue draperies.

Was Lord Mansfield at home? What if he appeared suddenly at a window, looked out, and caught her spying on him? The prospect caused an undue fluttering of her heart. How awkward it would be if he discovered her right here in front of his house. He was just arrogant enough to
surmise that she was sweet on him and was acting like a love-struck schoolgirl.

Lindsey bristled at the notion. Nothing could be further from the truth. She was here for a dual purpose—to discover what had happened to Flora’s missing cousin, Nelda, and also to find the IOU.

Lindsey’s errant mind traveled back to that close encounter in Lord Wrayford’s study, when Mansfield had reached into her bodice. His audacity proved him to be no gentleman. He was a rogue and a gambler, and if she never saw him again, it would be too soon—

“Not wise, missy. Not wise.”

The muttering voice snapped her out of the reverie. She glanced over at the short, stout Hindu woman who walked at her side. For a few moments, she had forgotten Kasi’s presence. A chilly breeze fluttered the edges of Kasi’s sky blue cloak, revealing a glimpse of the brilliant orange sari beneath it. The old ayah was the nursemaid who had cared for the three Crompton sisters since childhood, giving them the love and guidance they’d needed.

However, Kasi had also had an uncanny way of knowing when any of them were up to no good. As a young girl, Lindsey had been half-convinced that the woman possessed the fabled power of the Evil Eye.

“Not wise?” Lindsey asked, striving for an innocent expression as they continued their slow progression past Mansfield’s home. “I can’t imagine what you mean.”

“You plan mischief.” Her leathery face stern beneath a knob of graying hair, Kasi jabbed her forefinger at Lindsey. “You tell me.”

“Oh, pish-posh. We are merely enjoying a pleasant stroll through the neighborhood.”

Kasi gave her a sour glare, one that demanded the truth.

“Oh, all right, if you must know, there’s something I would very much like to do now that we are here. Miss Underhill told me that an old family friend lives on this street. I would like to pay a call on Miss Jocelyn Nevingford.” Lindsey nodded at the town house right beside Mansfield’s. “There’s the place.”

It was only a minor fib. The governess really
had
mentioned a tenuous connection between the Cromptons and the earl’s young ward. But to obtain the actual address Lindsey had had to engage in a bit of sleuthing. A small bribe had sufficed to coax a footman into obtaining the information.

Kasi regarded her with raisin-eyed suspicion. “Memsahib not give consent for visit.”

“La, there’s no harm in stopping for a brief hello. In truth, it would be rude to pass by without any greeting when we’re right here in the vicinity. And anyway, she’s just a young girl around Blythe’s age, so I can’t imagine how Mama could possibly object.”

Lindsey knew she was babbling. She did it to keep Kasi from getting a word in edgewise. And perhaps also to convince herself that she was making the right move. As they reached the town house, she steeled her nerves, marched up the front steps, and seized the lion’s head knocker to give three hard raps on the door.

Huffing and puffing, Kasi caught up to her on the small porch. The old woman was mumbling under her breath, something about needing to pray to the Hindu god Shiva for guidance. But thankfully she made no further attempt to dissuade Lindsey.

An aging butler opened the door. Lindsey presented him with her card and asked to see Miss Nevingford.

His bushy white brows lifting in a faintly quizzical look, he invited Lindsey into a spacious foyer fashionably decorated with striped-green wallpaper and mahogany
chairs. A grand staircase curved toward the receiving rooms on the first floor. The butler marched up the stairs and vanished. He returned a moment later to usher them up to a bright yellow-painted sitting room with tall windows that gave a view of the back garden.

A dainty blond girl lounged on a chaise by the fire, a white blanket arranged over her legs. The table beside her held a lap desk with a sketchbook and pencil. There was an almost ethereal quality to her slenderness, a fairylike delicacy to her face.

Surprise rippled through Lindsey.
She
was Mansfield’s ward? This beautiful woman-child?

A plump elderly woman occupied a nearby chair, intent on mending the hem of a chemise. The plain brown dress and widow’s cap marked her as a servant or perhaps a companion. She looked up to peruse Lindsey with a placid interest.

Miss Nevingford didn’t rise to greet Lindsey but smiled dazzlingly and held out both hands. She had striking green eyes, deep and beautiful. “Hullo! How wonderful to have a visitor on such a dreary afternoon.”

Lindsey was a bit taken aback by the display of friendliness from this waiflike stranger. Remembering her manners, she glided forward and briefly pressed the girl’s soft hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Did you recognize my name, then?”

That pretty brow crinkled a bit. She glanced down at the card in her lap. “No, but . . . should I have?”

“My family, the Cromptons, are also from Lancashire. I’m given to understand that my parents were neighbors of your father’s. I presumed you knew of the connection, Miss Nevingford.”

“Oh, you must call me Jocelyn. And if you don’t mind, I shall call you Lindsey. I know we are going to be fast friends. Fisk, will you ring for tea?”

The old woman rose obediently from the chair and hobbled over to tug on the bell rope before returning to her sewing.

Lindsey told herself to be thrilled at this opportunity. This was her big chance to dig up information. Yet something about the situation made her a trifle ill at ease. Perhaps it was the fact that Jocelyn seemed so overly eager for her companionship.

“I don’t know how long I can stay,” Lindsey said. “I only came for a moment to introduce myself.”

“But you mustn’t go away so quickly,” Jocelyn insisted. “Pray, sit down so that we might become better acquainted. I have so few friends in town and it’s been ever so dull, sitting here day after day, with only Fisk and my sketchbook for company.”

Lindsey obediently perched on the edge of a chair near the girl. From the corner of her eye, she noticed that Kasi had settled down to wait on a stool beside the door.

Jocelyn’s pale green gown enhanced her elfin appearance. She had the translucent skin of someone who seldom ventured outside. How different from Lindsey’s upbringing. Despite Mama’s scoldings, Lindsey and her sisters often had turned brown from the hot Indian sun.

“Surely you have many acquaintances,” Lindsey said. “There must be girls that you attended school with, or who live here on this street. If you go for a stroll through the neighborhood, you’re bound to make some new friends.”

“A stroll?” Jocelyn lowered her chin, gazing at Lindsey with the solemn eyes of a china doll. “Oh, did you not know—? The doctors say I will never walk again. Ever since the accident last year, I have been crippled.”

Shock held Lindsey immobile. A flush of mortification heated her cheeks. Of course, that would explain why Jocelyn hadn’t arisen to greet her, and why she reclined with a coverlet over her legs.

How had Miss Underhill failed to mention such a momentous fact? Knowing her, she probably hadn’t wanted to gossip.

“Forgive my thoughtlessness. I—I had no idea.”

“Oh, it’s quite all right,” Jocelyn said with a wan smile. “I don’t mind, really. Would you like to hear about the accident?”

“If—if you wish to tell me.”

“Certainly. Friends share such stories, don’t they?”

Lindsey managed a stiff nod. She felt swamped with guilt at deceiving the poor girl into thinking she had come here for such an altruistic purpose.

“It happened last November, while I was in living in Belgium. My father was a captain in the cavalry, you know. Mama and I followed the drum with him, traveling with him wherever his company went. There were times when we had to make do with living in a tent.”

Lindsey struggled to imagine this refined girl living under such difficult conditions. She felt a sympathetic connection between them since she, too, had grown up in a different world than the rest of high society. “You must have visited lots of interesting new places.”

“Yes—at least I did until my parents died.” As if looking into the past, Jocelyn turned her head to stare out the window. “One evening, I went with Mama and Papa out to dinner at the mayor’s house. On the way home, a terrible rainstorm blew up. The wind was howling, making the coach rock from side to side. Then from out of nowhere, a carriage came racing straight at us. I remember hearing a loud crash and being thrown about as the coach tipped over. And then . . . and then . . . there was nothing. . . .”

Biting her lip, she looked back at Lindsey, and her green eyes had a watery sheen. “When I awakened, my parents were dead and I was confined to bed, suffering the most unbearable pain from two broken legs.”

Aghast, Lindsey groped for something to say. Mere words seemed inadequate. “I’m so sorry.”

“Lord Mansfield took me in when I was left all alone. He said it was his duty. You see, he and Papa were the best of friends.” A wry smile banished the sorrow from Jocelyn’s face. “I daresay, I have been a millstone around the earl’s neck.”

“Why would you think that?”

“He’s a bachelor and quite the wild rogue. It must be terribly difficult for him to be saddled with a cripple as his ward.”

Lindsey gave him credit for taking in an orphaned girl, even if only out of obligation. Yet she bristled at the notion of him making Jocelyn feel unloved and indebted. “The earl ought to change his ways, then. It would behoove him to cease all his gambling and carousing at once.”